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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26152546">Clarre's Impressions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins'>samwise_baggins</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Islinne Weyr [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>CSI: NY, Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, NCIS, Numb3rs (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crossovers &amp; Fandom Fusions, Gen, Sweet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:14:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,551</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26152546</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwise_baggins/pseuds/samwise_baggins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>First Impressions, Private Impressions, Lasting Impressions. A candidate at the Weyr.    3381.13.18 to 3382.01.06</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Islinne Weyr [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898998</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Clarre's Impressions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Setting: AU 10th pass: Ista Weyr</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>First Impressions</b>
</p><p>3381.13.18 (December 20, 1981)</p><p>The first thing Clarre noticed about Ista Weyr was the difference in the noises. Second, she noticed the humidity in the air. And third? Third she noticed the dragons.</p><p>Around the bowl and across the ridge sat dragons in all variations of the four main colors: green, blue, brown, and bronze. Spinning slowly, Clarre's eyes danced with the joy such a lovely kaleidoscope of colors caused. A smile broke out on her tanned face as a hand inadvertently crept up to touch the multi-hued scarf in her thick walnut tresses.</p><p>A soft, deep chuckle came from behind the fourteen turn old. She turned, smiling at the friendly sound. It was, of course, the blue rider who'd brought her there. He was grinning at her.</p><p>"I've seen that same look of wonder on dozens of faces."</p><p>Clarre grinned back. "I expect it's because many people don't get to see a dragon up close."</p><p>Nodding in agreement, the blue rider directed, "Now, over here is the candidate barracks. Find an empty bunk and put your carry sack by it. Then you go there," he pointed to a place of high activity. "That's the lower caverns. I'll be in there shortly; I have to tell the Weyrwoman of your Search. If I'm not there when you arrive, ask for the Headwoman's Second; she'll get you bedding and put you on the chore roster. Go on now, girl." He smiled and strode off in a different direction.</p><p>Clarre smiled wider, looked around again in delighted wonder, and headed towards the indicated entrance of the candidate barracks. She ruthlessly pushed back her growing homesickness. Being Searched to Impress a dragon wasn't a sentence of imprisonment. She'd be allowed to see her family again, and they'd be invited to the Hatching. Yes, this was a great honor, and Clarre was determined to remain in good spirits. She had been Searched to Impress a dragon.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div><b>Private Impressions</b><p>3382.01.01 (January 1, 1982)</p><p>It had been several weeks since her initial Search, and Clarre had been kept too busy to pine for home much. She wasn't spending her days mending nets or gutting fish, but there was still plenty to do. Everyday they seemed to think of a new task she had to learn.</p><p>It wasn't as if there was a lack of workers, though. Ista Weyr had dozens of candidates, especially since the Queen had finally finished clutching two days ago. One of those eggs on the sands was a gleaming golden one. This had been great news for the Weyr, and all the female candidates were working hard to prove their worth in hopes of being among the select few being made queen candidates.</p><p>Clarre was no different. She worked the most onerous tasks given, without complaint. Unlike three of the girls, however, she wasn't deliberately vying for those unsavory tasks.</p><p>Those three were trying to prove just how humble and hard working they could be. Others were muttering that queen candidates shouldn't have to scrub latrines or hunt tunnelsnakes. Still others, like Clarre, merely worked what chores they were assigned and didn't make a big fuss over it.</p><p>Clarre knew the three girls vying for bad jobs did not have the right sort of attitude her father looked for in leaders. The complainers also would have been left standing when the choice for first or second mate was made. What her father had looked for, and Clarre agreed with, was a willingness to work mixed with a desire to learn . . . but also a bearing that bespoke self-pride and self-worth. Clarre only spotted six girls with that kind of attitude.</p><p>The young seahold girl made number seven in that group. She'd be the first to admit that she couldn't resist the urge to try for a queen dragon. Not arrogant enough to be positive that she'd actually walk off with the gold, Clarre tried to learn everything put to her, in case she didn't even get a green. She wouldn't, however, let herself dwell on the thought that she might not Impress at all. She simply pushed that doubt as far to the back of her mind as she could and continued to dream and work like the others.</p><p>At this particular moment, she was burning the middens pile. The work was smelly and dirty, and she'd need a good scrub herself when all was done. It was, in fact, an all day job, and Clarre had skipped lunch rather than bank the fire and try to coax it back up again. After this bit was done burning, she could douse the fire and go get cleaned up. Tomorrow someone would be assigned to remove the ashes and dispose of them as fertilizer . . . but Clarre wasn't going to worry about that today.</p><p>She sighed in relief as she put out the fires. Climbing from the middens pit and making sure one last time that the pile was truly doused, she headed into the bathing rooms. As soon as she was inside, she stripped, walking towards the pool. Before getting in, though, she sighed in weariness.</p><p>Her mind wandered back to the seahold. Right about now they'd still be working, mending nets by firelight as the harpers told their tales. Not the big nets . . . that was daytime work. No, they'd be repairing the smaller nets used by the children to catch the creatures which got caught in the tide pools. Homesickness hit her forcefully, and she gasped . . . then hurriedly got into the water.</p><p>Only twenty minutes of washing went by, but she felt as relaxed as if she'd spent the entire day soaking. She got out, her homesickness under strict control once more. The dark haired girl hummed merrily to herself as she dried and dressed. Then a thought struck her.</p><p>This was the day they'd announce the queen candidates at dinner . . . and here she was taking her sweet time instead of showing up to the meal. Clarre rushed the rest of her dressing, carrying stockings and shoes as she rushed towards the dining caverns. When she got to the entrance, she saw that the WeyrlingMaster was only just standing to announce it. She sighed in relief.</p><p>Hopping inside on one foot, she slipped into first one shoe, then the other. She nearly fell, but a standing brownrider caught her and steadied her. She smiled gratefully, barely registering that it was D'kee, one of the older riders at the Weyr, and finished putting her shoes on. Standing, just as the Master A'lan finished his introduction, she tucked the stockings in her belt.</p><p>Several girls were announced, one of them a complainer and another one of the drudge types Clarre hadn't approved of. Only three of Clarre's choices were named. Then she heard her own name, and disbelief coursed through her. D'kee grinned and pushed her. She didn't need another prompting, but proudly strode to the front, joining the others. Clarre was a queen candidate.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>**********</b>
  </p>
</div><b>Lasting Impressions</b><p>3382.01.06 (January 6, 1982)</p><p>Nervously, Clarre smoothed down the white candidate's robe she wore. She scrunched her toes then relaxed them, self conscious of her bare feet. It wasn't that they were over large, just very darkly tanned compared to some of the other girls' feet. Then Clarre laughed at herself.</p><p>Here she was, about to walk out onto the Ista Hatching Sands to try and Impress the gold dragonet, and she was worried about how tanned her feet were? The young seahold girl smiled at the others. Her nervousness wasn't entirely dispelled, but the laugh had helped.</p><p>Then there was no more time for nerves or idle thoughts; the dragons were humming. People were rushing into the Hatching Grounds, scrambling into the tiers in order not to miss the first egg cracking. Clarre drew in her breath and held it unconsciously. Master A'lan was guiding them onto the sands.</p><p>As the candidates were guided in, Clarre could see how closely the clever WeyrlingMaster had timed it. Eggs were rocking wildly. The circles were formed quickly, and Clarre noticed that one of the eggs had a long crack down the middle. Her attention was drawn away from that first egg, though, as the gold egg rocked violently.</p><p>Clarre wanted to bet that the queen would hatch first, but she didn't dare breath. She would have been right. The queen's egg burst into a shattering of pieces, and candidates had to duck the shards. Clarre threw a hand in front of her eyes, turning slightly to avoid the stinging fragments. She noticed the little bronze tumbling from his own egg. Then the dark haired girl turned to look at the occupant of that egg-turned-missile. There was actually no time to register what shade the little dragonet was, as she was surprisingly standing in front of the seahold girl, bulging imperiously.</p><p>Clarre laughed, and didn't need to be prompted by A'lan to allow Impression. She knelt and threw her arms around the little queen, smiling and hugging her new lifemate. "She says her name is Radath . . ." Clarre said almost breathlessly then burst into rich, loud laughter as she added, "And she says my feet are nicer than anyone else's."</p><p>The WeyrlingMaster laughed and guided the new queenrider and her partner off the sands.</p>
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